


All the Fellas That I Haven’t Kissed

by Five678Patty, Pants (Smarty_Pants)



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: ... and some more kissing later, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Banter, Boys Kissing, Bridget Jones’s Diary (2001) references, Christmas, Christmas Party, First Kiss (with a guy), Fluff, If Colin Firth can make it work so can Patrick Brewer, M/M, Making Out, Patrick Brewer is a Troll, Ridiculously inappropriate costume for a corporate setting, Sexy Santa, Trolling with beverages, Twy’s famous Tannenbaum smoothie, Ugly Christmas Sweaters, and then a second kiss, office Christmas party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:40:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27760156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Five678Patty/pseuds/Five678Patty, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smarty_Pants/pseuds/Pants
Summary: David Rose is hired as a Sexy Santa for the Butani Enterprises annual holiday party. Patrick Brewer is tasked with helping Santa out. Neither man is particularly happy about this…until they meet, that is.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer & Ray Butani, Patrick Brewer/David Rose, Stevie Budd & David Rose
Comments: 37
Kudos: 178
Collections: Schitt's Creek: Frozen Over (2020)





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [SCFrozenOver2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SCFrozenOver2020) collection. 



> **Prompt:**  
>  When Christmas World takes over the general store, David is forced to take a job with them. He is hired as a sexy Santa for a festive party at Ray’s/at a local office, where he meets Patrick, who is immediately taken with him and spends the whole night flirting with him. The whole office tries to get Patrick to sit in David’s lap.
> 
> This prompt was titled “Santa Baby.” Inspired by that, the fic’s title is taken from the lyrics of that song.

“You do have to come out eventually, you know.”

“I know! I KNOW! It’s just—is this really...? Oh, ugh! Five minutes!”

Stevie reclines back against the headboard of David’s bed, knowing he’d say her feet up on his bedspread were incorrect even though she kicked off her Chucks and is just in her socks. But as long as he stays holed up in the bathroom, he can’t say much of anything about it.

Five minutes pass. Seven. Eight. No David.

“David, _come on!_ It can’t be that bad,” she cajoles from the other side of the door. Seeing her most fashionable friend cosplaying as the jolly old man in the red suit is too much for her to resist but she does need to get back to work at some point.

“It’s not that it’s _bad_ exactly. It’s just, well, okay. Here.” The door opens and he emerges.

Stevie had expected—hoped—to see David Rose with a padded belly in a fuzzy red suit and hat, wearing a white wig and beard and maybe even a pair of old-man spectacles perched on his nose. The whole Santa Claus look. After all, he’d been hired to play Santa for a few hours at an office party in Elm Glen. Once she stopped laughing hysterically at this prospect, she agreed to help him get ready. Or at least give him a final lookover.

But this is not what either of them were expecting.

Stevie sits up straight, resting her chin in her hands and tucking her socked feet under her body, to take in the scene more fully. David stands before her, hands on hips. And—well yes—he _is_ technically wearing a red and white Santa coat. But this sleek satin jacket is short-sleeved and fits tight across his biceps and chest, held together by a single black button. David’s dark chest hair peeks out from the top and bottom of where the coat is fastened. Instead of baggy pants, he is wearing tight red shorts with white fur trim stretched across the meat of his thighs. A thick black belt is slung low at his hips and his calves are accentuated by tall black boots and black socks with a single red stripe. To top off the look, he’s got on mirrored aviators. The only part of the traditional costume that is as Stevie had imagined is a Saint Nick hat perched on the back of his head.

Stevie lets out a long wolf whistle. “Wow! That is...wow, David. Is that all of it?”

“I mean, it is. This can’t be right, can it?”

“Well, let’s be clear. Were you hired as a Santa-themed stripper for this party?”

“No!”

“Racy Christmas-gram? Fantasy boytoy for yuletide festishists?”

“No! I mean, okay, I don’t _think_ so. Ugh, Stevie! They said I was supposed to show up in costume, hand out gifts from their corporate office and give the employees pictures with Santa Claus. Here—you tell me.” He removes his sunglasses, pulls out several pieces of paper from the garment bag and thrusts them at her.

Steve shuffles through the paperwork. A smile sneaks across her face.

“David, you weren’t just hired to be any old Santa,” she says gleefully. “You’re SEXY SANTA!”

“What. The fuck. Is that,” he says, impatiently. “That’s not a thing.”

“Oh, it most definitely is,” she answers, looking especially pleased as she reviews the contract. “It says so right here.” She points to the little checked box. “They even paid extra!”

“Let me see that!” David snatches the papers back and peruses them quickly. “Um, oh, is this...? Well fuck. Robin was pretty adamant that I be the one to take this assignment. She said it would pay well but I didn’t ask why.”

Stevie lets out a loud, hearty laugh.

“What am I supposed to do now?” he says, voice rising.

“Are you kidding? David, this might be the best thing that’s happened to you this whole holiday season. When was the last time you had sex?”

“I— I don’t see how that’s any of your...”

“Because I seem to remember you complaining to me the other night after half a joint and a bottle of wine that no one has touched you in months. _‘Stevieeee, come look for rannnnndoms with meeee...I neeeeeed to shagggg someone new...’_ ” She flings her arms around dramatically. “Just wondering, does that sound familiar at all?”

“First of all, I do _not_ talk like that. That sounds like Bridget Jones.” David pauses. He has a vague memory of insisting on a rom-com marathon that night and falling asleep while Hugh Grant and Colin Firth were fighting in a fountain. “Um, okay. So I might have said that. But how does _this_ help me?”

“David, if you show up looking like _this_ at an office party where everyone is liquored up from the all-you-can-drink nog fountain, you’re gonna get some attention. Damn. You want randoms? This is gonna work as well as—maybe better than—your trusty leather jacket.”

“Mmm,” David says. “I suppose. I mean, I’m already booked for the gig and I’m obviously going to need the money after...” he trails off, waving his hand expressively. No need to finish the sentence; they both know what’s coming for him professionally on December 24th. 

“Yeah, that part sucks. It really does,” she says, nodding sympathetically. “Still, isn’t it ironic that Christmas World is going out of business at Christmastime? Don’t ya think?”

David huffs. “Thanks, Alanis.” He scrunches his face and gives her his most derisive of micro nods. 

She rolls her eyes and continues. “Look, I know it’s a huge drag to be out of work but maybe it could be...a blessing, too? You still have most of the check you got when you left the Blouse Barn and it sounds like you’re going to make a little extra scratch tonight before you’re once again, well, unceremoniously unemployed.” He scowls at her. 

“Sorry,” she says, not sounding especially sorry. “But you never liked that job anyway. What did you call the latest window display? The Nightmare Before Christmas Massacre? The Walking-in-a-Winter-Disasterland?” 

“Well, obviously. Who could have guessed that playing ‘The Christmas Shoes’ on a loop while peddling imported ornaments and tacky silver trees couldn’t keep management from driving the store into the ground, just like the general store before it?” he muses. “Or maybe my mom’s right. Maybe that location _is_ cursed.”

Stevie looks at him like he’s being ridiculous. “I’m just saying, maybe you can take that money and invest in yourself. Write your own life plan rather than accepting the next crappy job that comes your way.” 

David isn’t ready to admit to his best friend that he’d never completely given up on the idea he had for the space before Christmas World moved in and dashed his hopes, burying them deep beneath a mound of year-round fake snow. He smiles as he thinks about it. A one-stop-shop for unique local products. A branded immersive experience. His very own, very specific store. Maybe he doesn’t have to say it; maybe Stevie already knows. They share a look that is _this_ close to becoming sentimental when Stevie saves them both.

“Dashing in the snow,” she starts to sing off-key, clapping loudly in a disturbing rhythm. “Christmas World’s your store.” David scowls upon hearing her sing the radio jingle that is played incessantly in the tri-county region. “We’re always here, spreading cheer,” she continues, belting out the annoying earworm, “and ho-ho-so much more! Ohh! Christmas World. Christmas World...” 

His idea was so much better, _is_ so much better than this. Isn’t it? David just knows that in the right hands—the hands of someone with faultless taste who understands what people want and need—the store could be quite lucrative. 

Maybe the money he earns tonight can bring him one step closer to making that a reality.

Okay, then. Sexy Santa it is.


	2. Chapter Two

Patrick isn’t sure how he got stuck with the role of point man for the Santa Claus that Ray had insisted they hire. Patrick had reminded him that they were all adults and therefore didn’t need a Santa to distribute the corporate gifts, but Ray had a vision. And Ray typically gets what he wants. 

Patrick takes solace in the fact that he managed to talk his way out of wearing the elf hat and ears that Ray had procured for him from the dollar store this morning. Ray thought it fitting since Patrick is playing the role of Santa’s Little Helper tonight. But Patrick is certain he would have made an extremely embittered elf in that case. Instead, he’s only a mildly put out team leader in an ugly Christmas sweater emblazoned with a menacing-looking and wildly disproportionate elf.

He looks down at the garish sweater as he rocks back on his heels, hands deep in his pockets. His mind is on the party going on several floors above him as he waits in the lobby for Santa to arrive. He supposes the sweater isn’t _that bad_. Colin Firth made it work. Perhaps he could too? He thinks he might try flirting with Ken—of the skin-tight polos and million-dollar smile—from the Elm Falls branch tonight. He’s pretty sure they’d shared a moment when he was here last quarter for the all-branch regional meeting. 

Is tonight the night though? Instead of getting tipsy and getting his flirt on with a cute guy, Patrick has to keep his wits about him and stay sober enough to keep an eye on Santa and pay him at the end of the night. He sighs. He’s so sick of waiting. He’s waited his whole life to understand why things never felt right with Rachel and now that he has, he hasn’t exactly done anything about it. Just a couple lackluster coffee dates with men he has no interest in seeing ever again. Tonight was _supposed to be_ the night. No. Tonight _is still_ the night. He’s not going to let this stupid last minute whim of Ray’s get in the way of him flirting with a cute guy. 

He looks at his watch and heaves another sigh. _Where the hell is this Santa?_

As if in answer to Patrick’s question, the front door opens and in rushes a tall, attractive man looking frazzled and wearing not nearly enough clothing for the season. Or to make a convincing Santa Claus, despite the red and white outfit complete with hat.

“Are you Ray?” the man asks. Patrick doesn’t respond. He’s too busy staring slack-jawed at the expanse of exposed male skin in front of him. His ability to process auditory stimuli has apparently shut down in the face of all that visual stimuli. The tanned and muscled stimuli with dark chest hair that Patrick feels an urge to reach out and thread his fingers through. He tamps down the urge.

“Um. Hello?” The man waves his hand. “Are you Ray?”

The voice, sharper than before, draws Patrick’s attention away from the broad, well-defined chest, to the man’s face which is somehow even more arresting than his body.

“No. But I work for Ray. He told me to wait for you to come?” Patrick sees the man’s lips twitch, the beginnings of a smirk threatening to emerge. “Uh, that is, he asked me to give you a hand.” _And that’s something he just said to him._ The smirk arrives on the man’s face in full force. 

Patrick collects himself and tries again, “I’m Patrick. And you are?

“I’m Sexy Santa,” he says, sounding exasperated. He rolls his body as he says the words, his hands rolling alongside his torso. “Obviously.”

“Yes, you are.” Patrick can’t contain his grin. He is so immediately charmed by this man. He lets his eyes be drawn back down to where Sexy Santa’s hands had just been gesturing. He looks with intention, taking in the whole of him, letting his eyes drift down to the costumed boots before returning their journey, slowly, up to meet his eyes. “You definitely are.” 

The man cocks one of his dark expressive eyebrows. Patrick thinks he’ll still be able to get his flirt on after all.

—

David cocks an eyebrow. Interest piqued. There might be more to this guy than his mid-range jeans and fugly Christmas sweater. He’s not sure he’s heard anything as enticing as those three little words before. _Yes, you are._ It was undeniably hot. The way Patrick checked him out. So openly. So unapologetically. It’s been a long time since anyone looked at him like that.

Ugh. This means Stevie’s right. He hates when Stevie is right. But it looks like his last official job as a Christmas World employee will net him a tidy paycheck _and_ a corporate random for his efforts. Things could be worse.

Patrick leads him to the elevator and David follows behind appreciatively, his eyes trained on Patrick’s ass in his tight jeans. They stand on either side of the elevator, leaning against the wall and facing each other.

“This is a bold choice,” Patrick gestures to David’s outfit. “Not exactly what I was expecting. I’ve got to wonder if you left part of your costume somewhere? Maybe your shirt and pants are back at the North Pole? Or a different type of pole? Does Santa have a side hustle at the Dude Cave?”

David does not deign to respond to the latter questions, although he suspects whatever he is doing with his face is answer enough when Parick begins to grin. “ _This_ is not a choice,” he says as he gestures to his costume. “It’s standard issue Christmas World and I wouldn’t be caught dead in this get-up under normal circumstances.”

“Noted.” Patrick’s grin gets bigger.

“Speaking of bold choices—” David trails off and nods towards Patrick’s sweater.

“You don’t like my sweater?” he asks, mock offended.

Two can play at this game. David acts like he’s considering the question as he gives Patrick a slow, very obvious look up and down. “I think I’d like it more laying on the floor in the back seat of my car.”

He can’t believe he just said that. It’s so cheesy and nothing he’d have been able to get away with in New York. But what the hell, he’s never going to see this guy again and there’s something about Patrick’s confidence, about the way he teases, that makes David want to push back. Well, that, and the fact that David _would_ like to get him out of that hideous sweater. Beneath the green and red woven wool he can see hints of a physique that he very much wants to put his hands and lips on. He can see a blush creeping up Patrick’s neck, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. David wants to get his lips and teeth on that, too. 

The elevator dings and the doors open. 

—

Patrick is saved by the bell. His mouth has gone dry and he can feel himself starting to flush at the innuendo. His dick is definitely taking note. There has to be something wrong with him to have found that corny line hot. But he did. It was so fucking hot. Patrick wants to throw caution to the wind and have Sexy Santa make good on it.

Instead he leads him out of the elevator to where a red velvet throne is set up on a makeshift stage surrounded by Christmas trees and decorations. 

“Welcome to the North _Pole_ , Santa,” Patrick says.


	3. Chapter Three

So. Sexy Santa is not having the worst time.

True, David was a bit uncomfortable when he first entered the office party already going full swing. He could feel the eyes of three different branches of inebriated Butani Enterprises employees turn to look at him in his skimpy shorts and tight jacket. But instead of ridicule, he feels genuine appreciation for his presence and good cheer all around.

David holds court on his throne as employees take turns coming up to receive a lumpy gift from corporate (feels like a bathrobe or blanket), sit on Santa’s lap (which, okay that’s fine, though a bit awkward) and have a very enthusiastic guy named Ray capture the moment in 8-10 quick photo bursts. 

David has a brief conversation with each person, most of whom get rather flirty as he queries again and again whether their recent behavior has been characterized by naughtiness or niceness. Based on his informal survey, it seems to be an overwhelmingly naughty crew. Right now, for example, Tennessee—a busty junior accountant in a low-cut red blouse—is nestled in David’s arms, whispering in his ear all the dirty things she wants for Christmas. Before her, there was Heather, the striking senior associate, and Jake, the lanky receptionist, who each took their turn sitting on his lap for a photo op. Or an op for something. A later hookup, away from the office, Heather suggests, slipping David her number. A quickie in the copy room, Jake proposes as he compliments David’s lips. 

It seems highly likely that he’s going to get his pick of randoms tonight. The fact he searches the crowd for another face as he thinks this is of no circumstance whatsoever. Nope. Nuh uh. Just a coincidence, he tells himself. 

As the night continues, David watches the employees get drunker and begin to couple—and throuple—up. Some folks are dirty dancing to Lady Gaga’s “Christmas Tree.” Other pairings have sought out the ‘dark corners for dark deeds’ found at any good holiday party. Still others have disappeared to the copy room, which Jake rightly pointed out was the perfect hookup spot.

As the general merriment continues, David observes and reflects. He’s still not sure why they wanted him to do this appearance in such a minimal costume _and_ pay him so much money. There must be a catch somewhere. 

David learns that Ray, the guy with the camera, is actually the big boss of everyone there. Strangely, he seems to be happiest putting himself in the photographer role, hollering out instructions for everyone to smile and pose. Patrick, meanwhile, appears to have been tasked with checking in on David. Regularly. In fact, after a short while, David realizes that Patrick comes over to him every 15 minutes. Like clockwork. 

“How’s it going? Can I get you anything?” he asks, appearing just about when David starts to wonder where he is. His honey-brown eyes are round and wide as he gazes up at David through his eyelashes. 

“Oh hello, Patrick. The answer is the same as last time. I’d love a double polar bear shot.”

“Uh huh. Uh huh. That’s great. But the thing is, I’m gonna bring you the best iced peppermint-siracha hot chocolate you’ve ever had in your life,” he says with a grin. David grimaces but Patrick is already gone.

This guy takes his role of assisting Santa very seriously and apparently part of that is keeping him well-supplied with horrifying non-alcoholic refreshments. He returns each time with a glimmer in his eye and an ever-more elaborate drink that David doesn’t want. Patrick also seems to not be partaking in any of the hard libations.

“Here you go, Santa. They were out of iced hot chocolate so I got you an Evergreen Tannebaum smoothie.”

“This smells like pine needles, Patrick.” 

“Well, yes. Our HR rep, Twyla, is the self-appointed bartender tonight and her smoothies are notoriously bad.”

“Oh, so you brought me a terrible smoothie. Thanks so m—”

But Patrick is gone again and David is quickly in another conversation with another partygoer on his lap. And then another. His thoughts, however, keep finding their way back to Patrick. Could it be that this buttoned-up corporate guy wants something from him? While he’s been _checking in_ with David on the quarter-hour and trolling him with awful drinks, could he also be _checking out_ David with those ridiculously loud eyes? 

David scans the party for his helper and locates Patrick deep in conversation with a cute guy in a snug candy-cane striped polo. Mr. Adorable flashes a toothy smile at Patrick and David can see Patrick’s neck and cheeks flushing red. David inexplicably feels his stomach clench. Why though? There are plenty of other options here tonight if Patrick doesn’t turn out to be the one.

“Paa-trick!” Ray calls out. “It’s your turn to tell Santa what you want for Christmas.”

—

Patrick looks up from his conversation with Ken. Ray is calling him back over to where Sexy Santa is taking photos and flirting with everyone. Seriously? He _just_ pulled himself away from there. He must look so pathetic, unable to stay away from this super hot guy’s side, unable to take his eyes off him, just continually offering him undrinkable drinks and trying to hide his grin with his hand. 

Anyway, Patrick had just talked himself into approaching Ken again, cute Ken, much-more-in-his-league Ken. And then—

“Paa-trick!” Ray calls again. “Don’t you want to sit on Santa’s lap?” Patrick feels his throat grow tight as he sees those piercing dark eyes and impossible eyebrows from across the room. Ken smiles wanly as Patrick shrugs his apologies and stumbles his way toward Sexy Santa’s throne.

“You’re the last person tonight, Patrick,” Ray says, cheerfully. “You don’t want to miss your chance!”

“Hey,” he says softly, standing beside Santa.

“Hi,” the man in red responds. 

“Sit on his lap so we can get your picture together,” his boss calls out to them.

“Oh, Ray. I don’t know,” Patrick says. “I think we’re good like this.”

Santa smirks. “I won’t bite. Promise.”

Patrick half-lowers himself onto Santa’s lap, one leg still on the floor, more leaning than sitting. He hears Santa huff out a laugh as Patrick’s ass presses firmly against his thighs. This close Patrick can see the dark stubble dotting the other man’s cheeks and chin as well as the soft-looking skin on his high cheekbones. Patrick could touch his face now, could trace his fingers back and forth between the rough and soft places. He could map out this man, whoever he is. The first man to make him feel this much this fast.

He doesn’t. But he could.

“Hey,” Santa says in a husky voice. “I suppose I’m almost done here and I was just wondering about after.”

“After?” Patrick echoes, swallowing hard.

“Yeah, do I get my check from you or—”

“Oh yeah. Yeah. Yes, that’s right. I’ll show you where. After.” Patrick tries to tamp down his disappointment at other thoughts of what _after_ might have entailed.

Santa looks at him curiously. “Mmm. And okay, one more question for you, my sort-of elf helper with the terrible drinks and even worse sweater…” A dimple pops in his cheek as he swallows his smile. “Which would you say _you_ have been this year—naughty or nice?” 

Santa wraps one arm firmly around Patrick’s waist and his other hand wanders up to caress Patrick’s shoulder. Suddenly Patrick can’t breathe properly. He can smell the man’s enticing scent of vanilla and something like tobacco but not tobacco. Spicy and sweet. His unique, musky aroma hits Patrick in the solar plexus like a blow and awakens his dick. He shifts as he can feel a semi-firm situation happening in his tight jeans.

“I— I think, um, nice? I’m a nice person. But tonight...” 

“Mmm, yes. Tonight, Patrick. What are you hoping Santa has for you tonight?”

Patrick forces himself to be brave and look him in the eye, hoping to communicate the desires of a man who has never quite gotten what he wanted to someone who looks like he might be able to give him what he needs. 

Santa seems to get the message.

“You know,” he says to Patrick in a low voice. “I meant what I said about your sweater, us. Tonight. My back seat. If you’re interested.” 

“Look at me,” Ray calls to them. “Okay, look at him. And now look at me.” He takes several fast-shutter shots of them. “Perfect.”

And just like that, it’s over. Sexy Santa has completed his job for the night. Patrick stands and moves away from him, smoothing his hands down his thighs. 

“Okay. Come with me. I’m gonna get you the money…” Patrick says, feeling lightheaded. The two step off the stage and Patrick shows Sexy Santa the route toward Ray’s office where he’s set himself up for the evening. The Elm Glen offices are larger and markedly different from the Elmdale branch where Patrick works but he’s been here often enough that, with a hand on Santa’s lower back, he’s able to confidently and gently guide him through the large conference room.

—

And just like that, it’s over. David has completed his final job for Christmas World. The music is still going and the party has a fair number of die-hards remaining, but things are starting to wind down. His role is done.

Patrick and David walk through the doorway leading to the corridor, Then Patrick lays a hand on David’s forearm, stopping him for a moment.

“Um.”

“Yes?” 

He points above David’s head. Taped up in the doorway is a small plant cutting with thick leaves and waxy-white berries.

David looks at Patrick, amused. This is unexpected. “Yes?” he says again, quirking an eyebrow. Patrick seems to be stuck on the words but his eyes are making their own request. David decides to help him out. 

“Well,” he begins. “This was A. Fun. Night.” He waits for Patrick to speak. After a beat passes, he does.

“I’m so glad we hired you to be Santa tonight. You were. This was,” Patrick waves his hand to indicate the costume, “simply unforgettable.”

“Well. That is a lovely thing to say.” 

They linger beneath the sprig of mistletoe without speaking and David’s suddenly unsure. Maybe this is too much for this guy and he misread the signals. He’s being too much again. The outfit, the innuendo, all of it. 

“Is there more?” he asks, not knowing if he wants the answer.

“There is,” Patrick says quietly. “Since you asked what I’d like from Santa?” David nods. “I want—if you want, that is—well, a kiss?”

“Ah, just a kiss? Under the mistletoe?

“Too corny?” He looks down, saving David from his ridiculous eyes for a moment.

“No. No, not too anything,” David says, shaking his head slowly, a smile spreading across his face. “I want that. I’d—”

Patrick cuts off David’s words by stepping into his personal space, almost putting their mouths together. They stay only about an inch apart for a moment as they breathe in and out. The same air. The same breath. Patrick’s hands find David’s hips, gripping the wide belt and tugging it down slightly so more of his lower abdomen is exposed. David feels his cock twitch as their lips brush lightly against one another and they both pull back, maintaining eye contact. Then David closes the gap for real, diving in to kiss Patrick firmly. David’s fingers sink into Patrick’s short-cropped curls as their lips explore each other. Patrick makes a soft sound like a sigh.

They pull apart and stand gazing at each other for a moment. 

“Thank you,” Patrick says, voice rough.

“For...what?”

“I’ve never done th—” Patrick starts.

“Hey, Santa. I’ve been looking for you,” interrupts a tall, handsome man who has just joined them. 

Oh, huh. It’s the...receptionist?

Jake had walked up while the men were occupied but now he stands slightly between them, ignoring Patrick, eyes fixated on David. “I was wondering if you still wanted me to show you the thing in the copy room. Or we could leave here, you know, to get a whiskey...or...whatever.”

David looks back at Patrick, whose eyes have grown impossibly large, like he’s buffering or something, trying to compute what exactly is happening. He digs his hands into his pockets and his chin recedes, making it look like his face, his whole self really, has just taken a step back even though his feet remain planted firmly in the same place. He looks from Jake to David and back again. 

Well, _fuck_.


	4. Chapter Four

Well, _fuck_. 

Patrick can’t believe his first kiss with a man, his first kiss that has felt like anything let alone _this_ —like it should be accompanied by the swell of orchestral music or set to a backdrop of fireworks exploding over his shoulder—was just interrupted by some other guy hitting on the person he was kissing. 

Santa looks at him intently for a moment until his attention is drawn towards Jake, the new receptionist Patrick has heard a lot about but never actually met. He can’t fathom how anyone can be so brazen as to walk up to a person whose lips are thoroughly occupied with another’s and then invite that person for a hookup the second he comes up for air. Being open-minded is one thing, but this…this was something else entirely.

“Um,” Santa casts a quick glance back in Patrick’s direction before returning Jake’s eye contact. “Uh yeah but no. Nope, I don’t think so.” He takes a tiny step closer toward Patrick but keeps looking at Jake.

Jake shrugs. “You do you,” he says, seeming to be completely unperturbed by the knock-back. He heads back toward what’s left of the party.

“So…” Santa starts. His hands are on one of Patrick’s shoulders and he’s kind of lightly pawing along the length of his bicep. “You were saying—”

“That I was gonna get you the money.” Patrick wonders if it’s a flash of sadness that he sees in the other man’s eyes as he turns and resumes their journey to Ray’s office. But Patrick has already second- and third-thought what he was going to say. So better to just keep that information to himself.

He’s searching the credenza for the checkbook when he hears it. Santa clearing his throat, readying himself to speak. Patrick turns to face him.

“Um. So. I’m sorry about that.” On “that,” he’s gesturing; his hand palm-open and facing out is making large circles in the direction of the door. Clearly encompassing the Jake of it all. 

“What? No, it’s fine. You’re _Sexy Santa_.” He enunciates the words slowly and mimics the body roll from earlier that evening. “It’s one of the perks of the job, I’m sure.”

Santa nods and hums. In affirmation? Denial?

Patrick doesn’t want to let himself think too much about it, so he turns away and resumes his search of the credenza.

—

“Oh. So. That’s it?” David asks as he folds the check in half and slips it… fuck…where does he put this thing? Does he tuck it into the waistline of his shorts? That seems suggestive. Ten minutes ago, he probably would have done just that. Instead, he leans down and tucks it into his sock.

“Yeah, I think that’s it.”

“Okay.” He turns to leave but whirls back around almost immediately. “The thing is, Patrick, I don’t want that to be it.”

“You don’t?” Patrick is looking up at him through his eyelashes again. Those things need to come with warning labels. David heaves a breath and swallows what’s left of his tattered pride.

“Not if more kissing is on the table?” He takes a step towards Patrick. “Not if the back seat of my car is still an option?” He cocks an eyebrow and takes another step forward. 

Patrick moistens his lips and David can’t look away. He takes another step forward and Patrick meets him halfway. This time his lips crash into David’s. His arms wrap around David’s waist, pulling their bodies close. David’s hands reach for Patrick’s face, his fingers scratching against the hair at the nape of his neck. Patrick’s lips part slightly, and David’s upper lip falls into the space between them. As if they were contoured precisely to fit like this, lips together, taking their time, languid and perfect. David is lost to the moment. His focus lies solely on the feel of Patrick’s mouth moving against his own.

Too soon, David’s lungs are shouting at him, telling him to breathe. He takes an involuntary gasping breath and Patrick seizes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding into David’s open mouth. David has never ( _never!_ ) been this utterly wrecked by a kiss before. His stomach is full of butterflies and fireworks and a deep want that is clawing to get out. He is completely lost to the sensation of Patrick’s tongue dancing alongside his own, teasing and insistent. Confident. He feels Patrick’s arms loosen from around his waist, his hands migrating to his hips, as he walks David backwards, until his legs hit something and he falls gracelessly into a sitting position on a couch. Patrick follows him down, straddling him. His lips never leave David’s.

—

Patrick is happy. So very happy. He’s also turned on. So completely turned on. 

He’s sitting in Santa’s lap and his body is alive, experiencing intense desire for the first time ever. He finally tears his lips away and runs them along this sexy man’s stubbled jawline. Santa tips his head back, allowing room for Patrick to explore. And he does. He does what he didn’t do the first time he sat tentatively on this man’s lap. He lets his thumb traverse his cheekbones, feeling the contrast between the soft and rough. He kisses him there. The right side of his lips pressed firm against the impossibly soft skin while his left side feels the gentle scratch of flesh pressed against stubble. He runs his lips against the grain of the coarse hair. He thrills at all the foreign sensations. 

Eventually, Patrick’s lips find their way back to Sexy Santa’s lips. He wraps his arms around his neck, pulling him closer, increasing the pressure. Much like his cheeks, this man’s kisses are both soft and rough. They are sensual and sweet then forceful and firm. Alternating in quick succession. Patrick pulls away, barely a whisper between them, making Santa chase his lips. Making him arch up and crash back into Patrick. It is a lot. It is the best. It is something he never wants to stop. 

For his part, Santa also explores. He slips his hands underneath Patrick’s ugly sweater and runs his fingers over the skin of his lower back. And then higher, his hands caressing Patrick’s shoulder blades, his fingernails trailing lightly down the length of Patrick’s back. Patrick’s senses are in overdrive, with his whole body feeling new things. Santa scratches at the small of his back and Patrick feels himself arching into it. A move that presses his very attentive cock against the other man’s. He moans at the sensation. Patrick grinds into him purposefully this time. And this time it’s Santa who moans. 

In one move, Patrick pushes off Santa’s hat, sinks his fingers into his hair and angles his face where it wants it, swallowing the moan, kissing with a desperation that wasn’t there before. He introduces his teeth to their kissing repertoire, drawing Santa’s bottom lip between them. If the way he bucks up against Patrick is any indication, the man in red approves of this addition. 

—

“Knock, knock!” 

The door opens before Ray’s chipper voice has finished speaking. David and Patrick startle, breaking apart at the sudden intrusion. His hands hurriedly retreat from where they had been exploring the taut muscles underneath that horrible sweater. A noticeable flush has taken over Patrick’s neck as he positions himself on the couch next to David, grabbing a cushion to sit on his lap in an attempt to hide the firmness David had felt rub against him. David smirks, finding himself a little more smitten than he was just a few moments before.

Ray stands in the doorway to his office and smiles at them both. Just keeps on smiling. And smiling. David shifts uncomfortably. Just when the awkwardness of the silence is about to break David, Ray speaks. “Oh, good. Santa! You’re still here. I didn’t get to thank you earlier for a job well done. Everyone is raving about your performance. _And_ I got some great photos. I see a personalized Christmas-themed mouse pad with your face on it in your future. How do we feel about that?” 

“Um, thank you?” He hears Patrick swallow a snicker beside him.

“I will say, I was a little shocked by your costume choice. It seemed a little risqué for a traditional Christmas party, but you clearly had a concept which you executed brilliantly. A scantily clad Santa! Visionary!” Ray makes a sweeping motion with his hands as he says the last word, parting them above his head and making a downward arch as if revealing a flashing sign above his head.

Hang on. What?!

“What?! _I_ didn’t choose this outfit. You did. _You_ chose the outfit.” David’s voice rises. His hands also rise as he gesticulates wildly. “It said _Sexy Santa_ on the order form.” He looks from Ray to Patrick then back again.

“Did it?” Ray steps into the room and riffles through some pages in the in-tray on the corner of his desk. “Oh,” he chuckles. “Would you look at that! I must have checked the wrong box.”

“Oh. My. God. Ohmygod!” David hisses, a sharp exhale of breath pushing through his gritted teeth. “You mean this was all just a mistake?” 

Patrick places a hand on David’s arm. It instantly works to calm him. The grin he’s working hard to suppress is less calming, though.

“Ray. Did you need something?” Patrick asks.

“Oh. Of course. I’d forget my head if it wasn’t permanently attached.” He laughs at his joke and seems unconcerned that neither David nor Patrick join in.

Ray explains the crisis to Patrick. Something about invoicing and being put on stop-supply if they don’t get the missing invoices paid before Christmas or whatever. David isn’t really sure because he’s not really listening. What it amounts to is that Patrick needs to leave. Patrick needs to leave and go help Ken with business stuff. He tells Ray he needs a minute and will be right out. 

“Hey,” Patrick says, turning to David once Ray has left. He places his hands on his biceps, squeezing them gently. “Can you stay? Wait for a bit? I won’t be long and then we can pick this up where we left off. Maybe we can even go somewhere and get an actual drink?”

“Mmhmm. Yup,” David nods, “I’d like that very much.” He tucks a fond smile into the side of his mouth. Who even is he right now?

“I’ll be back,” Patrick says, leaning forward and dropping a quick kiss to his cheek. 

Much like the birthday clown who disappeared in the night, Patrick does not come back. Or at least he doesn’t in the 30 minutes that David sits alone in Ray’s office dressed like a stripper and listening to Patrick’s laughter float in through the open door.

Eventually, he decides to leave, feeling foolish for sitting there for so long. He follows the distant voices down the corridor and pauses when he sees Patrick, sharing a desk with Mr. Adorable himself. Ken, presumably. Well this makes more sense. Ken is the type of guy someone like Patrick ends up with. Unlike David who shows up at a professional office in a ridiculously inappropriate costume, who is only good for a shag in the backseat of his car. He watches as Ken flirts with Patrick and turns to leave when Patrick tips his head to laugh at something David is sure he wouldn’t find funny. 

Merry fucking Christmas. 

—

Sexy Santa is gone by the time Patrick gets back to Ray’s office. He checks to make sure he’s not somewhere in the building and then he checks the parking lot. Now that the party has wound down, the lot is empty and Patrick is full of regrets. He doesn’t even know his name. He rubs the back of his neck in frustration and curses himself. He should have come back, told him about the invoice emergency and said a proper goodbye. He made out with a man tonight. _For the first time ever_. But more than that, he felt a connection, a spark, _for the first time ever._ How could he not have thought to ask for a name? To exchange numbers? To immediately invite him on a date? Instead, he’d thoughtlessly left this gorgeous guy hanging at the end of a long night. What an idiot he is.

Patrick looks down at the Christmas World invoice and Sexy Santa order form he’d grabbed off Ray’s desk. Come on, Brewer. It’s not over yet. He folds the invoice and puts in his pocket then calls an Uber. He’ll call first thing in the morning.

Except when he calls the next day from his own office, he’s told in no uncertain terms by a snippy teenager that they cannot give out the personal information of their employees. When he calls back a few hours later to place an order for an appearance by Sexy Santa a couple of days after Christmas, he gets a disembodied voice telling him the number is no longer in service. When he Googles it, he sees the Christmas World store in Schitt’s Creek has gone out of business. 

Merry fucking Christmas. 

Patrick sits at his desk feeling hopeless. His mystery man could be anyone, could be anywhere. If the only local Christmas World is now gone, he might have left the area entirely. The website says the next closest store is three hours away.

Patrick’s phone rings, it’s Darleen in reception. 

“Your next appointment is here. B13.”

“Thanks, Darleen. Send them back.”

Patrick pulls out a file with the necessary paperwork. He flips through it. Someone applying for incorporation. For the Christmas World location. Interesting. And ironic. It doesn’t say the nature of the new business but Patrick figures he’ll learn all that from this Mr. Rose.

The door opens and a man enters. He’s wearing a stylish black crewneck sweater with thin horizontal white stripes down a middle column along with some kind of black skirted pants. His hair and eyebrows are unmistakable. He may have completely hidden that killer body under those loose dark fabrics, but no matter. He’s truly the sexiest thing Patrick has ever seen in his life.

“Oh,” says the man, his expression unreadable. “It’s you.” 

“Patrick,” he says, extending his hand and holding his breath.

“David,” he replies, a tentative grin spreading across his face. He shakes Patrick’s hand and then doesn’t let it go.

Patrick smiles at the name, thinking _David._ Finally. _David. It’s David._ He doesn’t know if he’ll ever stop saying that name now. _David. David Rose. David Rose of Schitt’s Creek._

“David Rose. You wanna have a seat?” David drops Patrick’s hand and sits across from him. “I should tell you, before we get started, I do have one question for you, David, and it’s kind of a big deal.”

“Is it?” He eyes him warily.

“Yeah. Yeah, David. It’s pretty big.” he pauses, saying a silent thank you for whatever holiday miracle made this moment happen. “I need to ask you. David Rose….What are you doing New Year’s Eve?”

David smiles. 

“I don’t know, Patrick, what are we doing?”

**Author's Note:**

> To Pants: You absolutely dragged my ass over the finish line for this fic. Thank you for that. And for suggesting we zoom when I was ready to run away. You got _us_ back on track and _me_ inspired again. You have a way of doing that. This partnership—your support, encouragement and friendship—means so much to me. 
> 
> So what are we writing next? 
> 
> To Patty: You are a rockstar, my dear. You rallied despite a lot of challenges and we did it and that’s all we’ll ever remember. Working with you is a joy, even when it’s not easy re: time zones, motivation, or whatever else life throws at us. We can do hard things! Yaaas! I'm looking forward to both collaborating in 2021 and cheering each other on in our solo projects. Fact: You are simply the best. Pattypants 2021!


End file.
